


I promise I will never forget it again.

by SpaceWahker



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 6x07 spec, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 06, post 6x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWahker/pseuds/SpaceWahker
Summary: "You need to remember, Clarke. You have to stop repressing yourself and your feelings. You can't fight when you're holding yourself back," Harper touched her arm soothingly and Clarke was suddenly thrown by the reminder that she was a mother."But Clarke," Monty looked worried, "you can't lose yourself in your memories, that's what she wants. You need a tether, a happy memory or something that will anchor you back so you won't get lost; so you won't forget."Clarke needs to break free of Josephine (6x07 spec).





	I promise I will never forget it again.

"Well this is new."  
Clarke turned from the locked prison door to find a girl sitting on her previously unoccupied bed. She was pretty, blonde, her hair tied in a way that reminded Clarke of herself, and was observing her with an odd expression that looked almost like curiosity.  
"I take it you're Clarke then," she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she stood up. She extended a hand, "Josephine Lightbourne." Clarke didn't take it.  
"Where am I?"  
Josephine lowered her hand and began to wander, her eyes wide with fascination. "Interesting," she muttered, gazing around the room of pictures, "I'm impressed."  
Something felt off about this girl, but Clarke's mind was still fuzzy and the voices still echoed in her head. She closed the space between them, her expression hard, "let me out of here."  
Josephine continued to look around, seemingly unfazed by Clarke's aggressive stance. "Why would I do that?"  
Clarke narrowed her eyes, the uneasy feeling the girl gave her only made the voices louder.  
"Besides," Josephine reached a hand out to touch a picture of Madi, "I might say, I'm intrigued."  
The moment her hand touched the charcoal, a surge of unreasonable anger pulsated through Clarke and she swung a hand at the other girl. Josephine reacted, but not fast enough, and she slammed into the wall behind her.  
She gave a small laugh and raised an eyebrow, but something in her tone told Clarke she wasn't joking anymore. "Now that's a bit violent."  
The voices started to get louder, Clarke's thoughts a fuzzy mess as the cacophony of sounds bounced across the walls. Her head pounded. She wasted no time in pinning Josephine to the wall, "Let. Me. Out."  
But this time, Josephine was ready and she swiped at Clarke's legs in a desperate attempt to get away. In the struggle, the glimmer of a key on the other girl's pocket caught Clarke's attention. Josephine's eyes flickered to where she was looking.  
"No don't!"  
Clarke connected her knee to Josephine's stomach, the other girl keeling over as she swiped the key from her and ran back to the door. Clarke fumbled with the prison key, her breathing sharp and fast as she tried to calm her hand. She glanced back at Josephine's heaving figure on the jail floor, feeling dread creep through her veins. Steadying her hand, she jammed the key in and threw her body at the unlocked door, not taking a second to slam it behind her. Clarke was ready to run when the smell of pine and woodsmoke hit her.  
The air was cleaner, fresher, the light natural, and as her vision cleared, she realised she stood in a wooden cabin. Long drapes lined the windows, drawings scattered across the walls, a backpack leaned against a wall. Clarke was home; where she and Madi had lived for six years. She walked in further, breath short and eyes threatening tears.  
There was a figure at the table. She recognised him.  
"Dad?" It was a whisper, a sound of disbelief.  
He turned around, eyes crinkling at the sight of his daughter, "Hello, sweetheart."  
She felt the breath leave her body. It was unmistakably him. Her father. Without skipping a beat, she fell into his arms, small and protected in his embrace. She felt like a kid again and he felt warm and safe and real. Real?  
She took a step back. "How is this possible," she shook her head, "how are we here?"  
"What's the last thing you remember," his tone was sombre and Clarke felt her heart sink as she searched for an answer.  
"I died."  
-  
The Commander of Death.  
Clarke knew death. She'd brought enough souls to him, quenched his thirst with their blood, traded their lives for those of her people. It was only fair that it be her turn. Death was always there, watching, waiting, his thin, tapering fingers wrapped around her neck, slowly pulling her away from her friends, from her life. She'd often wondered how he would take her, and if she would go willingly. Would it be sudden or slow? Would she see it coming? Perhaps she'd sacrifice herself and die like she should have in Praimfaia. Death had had her in his grasps more times than she could count, and yet still she didn't know. Clarke guessed she had her answer now.  
It was... disappointing.  
In the end, Death found her paralysed, alone, crying out for help when no one could hear her, where no one would find her. Why had she survived Praimfaia, survived in isolation, slept for two-hundred years to die just like that? Perhaps it was divine justice. Her penance for the lives she had ended. She'd fed death for too long and he had grown bored of her souls. He wanted hers, and now he had it.  
But nestled in the warmth of her father's embrace, Clarke softened. Maybe this was what she deserved. And didn't she seek Death, hadn't she wanted this, didn't she ask for it, didn't she ask for it?  
"What are you thinking 'bout, kiddo?"  
Clarke smiled into his arms, but it faltered as she thought of what to say. She'd never told anyone of her thoughts, of her fears, but perhaps her Dad would see. She stayed silent for a long moment before speaking, and when she did, she found that her voice was small and broken, "If this is what I wanted."  
For a long time, he didn't speak, only rubbing small circles into her shoulders. Then he stopped, and pulled her back to look into her eyes, "I think you need to figure that out yourself."  
"How do I do that?"  
He pulled her closer and smiled down into her hair, "you'll have to decide whether or not you want to fight back."  
Clarke furrowed her brow. "Dad?"  
"I think you know what I mean."  
She took a step back.  
"You can stay here, stay here with me," he gestured to the drawings, "with whoever you want, or you can fight for your body," he looked to the door at his left, "I think you'll have your answer then."  
She considered it. The warmth of the cabin, the feeling of sunlight on her skin, the sound of Madi's laughter outside and the echo of another's distant voice. The truth was so dark, so cold... but here, here she belonged. She could do what she wanted, be with who she wanted...  
Maybe this was how she got to peace. Got to peace? She glanced at the door behind her, at the drawings on the walls, the faces blurry and just out of reach. She looked back at her dad and he smiled, knowing what she was about to do.  
"It's okay."  
There was a lump in her throat as she spoke, breaking her voice in a way that sounded unrecognisable. "I love you, Dad," a tear fell down her cheek and her final words caught in her throat.  
She thought she heard his reply as she stepped through the door, but the sounds and warmth of the cabin immediately vanished past the frame. The room melted from wood to metal, lengthening out into a long corridor which darkened as sunlit windows vanished and were replaced by glass which held the inky nothingness of space. At the end of the hall was a red door, upon which hung leafy wreathes embedded with red berries, and in front of it stood Josephine, now recovered from her injuries.  
-  
Josephine smiled, "So we meet again."  
Clarke didn't waste time on greetings. "Russel really did it, he stole my body?"  
Josephine nodded slowly, "And clearly made a mess of it. It's been hundreds of years since a mind-wipe failed, but I've got to say," she locked eyes with Clarke, "this isn't bad." She quickly clarified. "Not as organised as my mind-space of course, but," she shrugged, "mildly impressive."  
"Mind-space?"  
"The brain creates these constructs when two minds share a body," she explained, walking around the Ring corridor, "like lucid dreaming only, not as fun. It's a self-preservation thing. Trying to keep the minds separate so the body doesn't die." She turned back to Clarke, her tone condescending, "You kinda messed that up when you opened the door so, you know, thanks for the accelerated brain deterioration."  
"Wait," Clarke shook her head slightly, "you've been through this before?"  
"Never anything as advanced as this but, yeah, back in the day before Gabriel perfected the mind wipe there were a few mishaps. I got jacked into some people's minds when the lights were still on. They were so average."  
"What happened?" Clarke asked, although she felt she already knew the answer.  
"The first was a six-month old; her mind was... unformed, full of chaos and shapes and sounds. Then there was Savannah. I swear I was not that obnoxious at fifteen."  
Clarke stared blankly at the floor, "Then they died."  
"Brain haemorrhaging leads to stroke, then we all fall down. It's messy and hurts like a mother," she shook her head as if to shake away the memory, "would not recommend."  
Her nonchalance made Clarke feel sick. "So I'm going to die. Is that it?"  
"Only if you don't get back in that box," Josephine shrugged, "It's all the same for me. I'll just be transferred to a new body if you die, but," she watched Clarke carefully, "It'll be easier for both of us if you just go back."  
Clarke gave a small laugh her heart wasn't in, "I don't go down that easy."  
"You're already dead, there is no 'going down'. Everyone out here has already accepted it - although it did take a bit of convincing. You keep running around and it's just pointless for all of us."  
Clarke felt her heart sink. They'd given up on her already. What had it been? A day? A week? She didn't know. But they'd given up. Her mum, Madi, Bellamy...  
Seeing Clarke's expression, Josephine smiled, "Don't look so glum. They think you're dead, then they'll survive. You can stay in your memories here - or create new ones - I don't care."  
Her comment made Clarke pause, "Think I'm dead?"  
Josephine stopped for a split second, before her calm demeanour came back, "Just a figure of speech."  
But it was enough to alert Clarke. "What's that door behind you?"  
Josephine stopped her pacing, "Look, you don't want to do this. We'll both just end up dead - well you will anyway - but I'm going to have to go through the pain. Just, go back to your cell and you can sit with your drawings like the rest of them."  
Clarke took a threatening step forward. "Get out of my way."  
Josephine sized her up but soon clearly came to the conclusion she wouldn't win. A second passed before she stepped to the side, throwing up her hands in defeat. "Fine. Do what you want. It's not going to work. Actually," she paused a second, "this might be better anyway."  
Pushing past the other girl, Clarke reached for the door handle.  
"Don't say I didn't warn you."  
She pushed the door open and stepped out, only to find herself in an identical corridor. She watched the door snap shut behind her and turned around to meet two familiar faces.  
-  
"Hey, Clarke."  
"Harper?" Clarke looked between them. "Monty?"  
She ran out to hug them, but when she stepped back she noticed something different. They smiled at her the same but their faces were younger, eyes less weary, Monty's hair was as she remembered it before Praimfaia and the two wore their clothes from the dropship days. Her smile faltered.  
"You're not real?" Her heart ached painfully as she looked into their eyes, and even as she said it, she didn't want to believe it. But she knew, she knew they were only memories. Figments of her subconscious.  
Harper shook her head, "No, but Clarke, it doesn't matter, you don't have much time."  
Clarke vaguely noticed the corners of the Ring's wall begin to blur as the lights dimmed and brightened. She pinched her eyes shut.  
"Your brain is beginning to deteriorate," Monty explained, "your memories are folding, mixing with one another."  
"Clarke, you need to tell the others you're alive."  
"How?" Clarke asked, searching wildly down the hall which stopped at its red-door replica.  
"The flame organised your mind into files when you went into the City of Light," Monty continued on hurriedly, "that's why you're still conscious, but to overpower Josephine you need a kind of boost to push you to the surface."  
"What does that mean?"  
"You need to remember, Clarke. You have to stop repressing yourself and your feelings. You can't fight when you're holding yourself back," Harper touched her arm soothingly and Clarke was suddenly thrown by the reminder that she was a mother.  
"But Clarke," Monty looked worried, "you can't lose yourself in your memories, that's what she wants. You need a tether, a happy memory or something that will anchor you back so you won't get lost; so you won't forget."  
Clarke took a breath, "How long do I have?"  
"Before she wakes up, so, not long."  
She nodded, "What do I need to do?"  
"Don't stop," he nodded at the red door at the end of the corridor, "you'll know what to do."  
Clarke walked with the pair down the corridor. She touched the door handle before looking back at them. "Thank you," she said, and she wasn't sure if her vision blurred because of her head or the tears, "for everything."  
Harper smiled sadly, "you get back there and take care of our boy."  
"He's good," Clarke said through tears, "too good. He reminds me of you."  
The lights at the end of the hall dimmed and she could no longer see where she came from.  
She hugged the two fiercely, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. You should've been able to see it - to see him. It's not fair. It's not fair at all."  
"We got what we wanted," Harper said softly into her shoulder, "there's nothing to be sorry about."  
Clarke let out a sob for her lost friends as the lights faded one by one and she could no longer make out their faces, before she turned around and stepped through the open door.  
-  
Humming.  
It's the first thing she heard as she walked through the door. The air was clean again, the ground soft, and Clarke knew she was back on Earth. She stumbled for a moment until, through the gaps in the trees, she saw the source of the humming; herself.  
"I'm going to help you." Clarke heard the moment echo in her head. She knew what she was seeing.  
For a moment, her eyes flickered to the boy beside her, and Clarke's heart leapt into her throat. That dark curly hair, freckled face... it was Bellamy. And she... she was so young.  
Clarke watched as she slid the blade into Atom's neck, pushing hair from his face, humming that haunting tune. As the light left the boy's cloudy eyes, Clarke felt the dead hands reach for her skin. This was the first life she'd taken. The first of many. She opened her mouth to say something, but the scene changed, and suddenly she was in the middle of a war-zone.  
She watched as a boy, who could be no older than fifteen was skewered by a grounder blade, another died beside him. Blood pooled at her feet, but Clarke could only watch as the other her stood at the door to the Dropship, screaming for the others to get inside. She knew how this ended, felt Death's grasp grow tighter, but she was paralysed to the ground, unable to do a thing. She saw herself make eye contact with Bellamy from across the clearing, saw the realisation dawn in her eyes, and watched as she pulled the lever and the ground erupted in flames. They licked at her skin, the grounders around her screaming as their flesh melted in the fire. She was burning, drowning in the flames, but in the immense heat she heard a voice call out to her.  
"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things."  
Her vision cleared. She was standing at the edge of a crater, the smell of burning flesh still at her nose as she watched the flames dance across what was left of TonDC. She can't see herself this time, but Clarke doesn't need to to know that this was her. A white horse ran across the horizon, a tail of flame chasing it, and Clarke thought of Death. Did he want this? Or was it all her?  
"I did it to save Bellamy."  
Clarke gasped for breath as she woke up, her surroundings clean and white. Finding she could move, Clarke walked down the familiar corridor, taking in its white tiles, fluorescent lights, and circular windows. She's dreamed about this place before.  
Clarke continues to walk until she comes to a door with a broken window. Through the shard glass, she can see a painting. The starry night.  
"I've got to give it to you, this is different."  
Clarke whipped around to see Josephine leaning lazily against the opposite wall.  
"Most people can't get past the first - but then again," she watched Clarke carefully, "you're not like most people, are you?"  
"Get out of my head," Clarke muttered loudly, pushing past the other girl to continue down the hall.  
"So what are you going to do here?" Josephine asked, following Clarke. There was almost a hint of excitement in her voice. "Burn it down again? Oh wait," she rounded on Clarke, "I got it. This is that facility, isn't it? Mount Weather, right?"  
At Clarke's silence, she made a joyous noise, but she didn't follow the other girl, and as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. A gunshot sounded from the door to Clarke's left and she froze. She knew which gun it must have sounded from. Blood running cold and Death at her heels, Clarke opened the door and walked through.  
-  
"Clarke. We're out of time."  
The room is dark, lit only by the monitors which the three stare at with glassy eyes. Clarke knows what will happen, knows that this moment will haunt her for the rest of her life, knows that Death will never let go after this, but she doesn't stop herself. In the room, alone with her memories, Clarke stands still and watches.  
"My sister, my responsibility."  
The room begins to darken and Clarke feels her memory close in on herself.  
"I have to save them."  
As her hand touches the lever, a part of Clarke's soul fractures. She can only see herself and the lever and Clarke feels herself slipping. It's almost like rain. Fuzzy at first, so she can't see it, can't feel it. Then it gets harder, and before she knows it, it falls. She's falling. Slipping like rain, hurtling towards Earth; towards hell. Death waits to embrace her as she falls and Clarke's memories fall with her. Why is she fighting? Why fight when the fall is so easy?  
Then a hand touches hers and Clarke sees him too.  
"Together."  
Her hurtling slows.  
They pull the lever and although Clarke's soul breaks in two, the darkness stops. It might just be the two of them, but she can see again. She can see.  
"You need a tether, a happy memory or something that will anchor you back... so you won't forget."  
So she won't forget.  
"I promise I will never forget it again."  
She's falling again, but it's the right kind of fall. A million memories pass by, a million moments, until Clarke finds the one. The one she regrets.  
The sky is a pale orange as Praimfaia approaches on the horizon. Clarke stands at a distance, the only one without a hazmat suit, and watches as the four begin to part ways. The old her steps forward.  
"Bellamy!"  
"Clarke, if this is one of those moment where you tell me to use my head-"  
"No. I was just going to say..."  
It hangs in the air for a moment; a moment where she should have said something, where she should have known... she should have known that they'd never see one another again. Of course fate would pair them like this. She should have known. Clarke had replayed this moment a million times over and yet, she still didn't know what she would say.  
But she knows what she did say.  
"...hurry."  
"You too."  
He makes to leave.  
"Bellamy." The sound comes out of the real Clarke's mouth, and she surprises herself as the group turns to her, frozen in time.  
She looks at herself, the heartbreak in her eyes, and back to Bellamy. The boy she'd never see again. In a second she's thrown herself around him, arms clasped tightly around his back. She knows it's only a memory, but it feels so real. She breaths out a ragged sob.  
"We'll meet again," she whispers into his suit, the tears on her face evaporating in the heat, "I promise."  
He'd find his way back six years later.  
Clarke would break free. She had to. She'd promised.  
-  
Clarke squints as the lights above her burn into her retina. She's faintly aware of the scream that leaves her mouth as she looks around at the faces above her.  
Russel is cupping her face whispering, "Josie," and she recoils immediately.  
Her eyes search the room before they land on one face. His face. He's watching her hesitantly, his eyes red and hesitant at her gaze.  
"Bellamy?" The sound leaves her mouth involuntarily.  
Pain and anger flash in his eyes and he glances away. "Stop."  
But Clarke sits up, choking on tears, refusing to give up, "Bellamy."  
For a second, he looks at her - really looks at her - and as his eyes change from hesitance to hope, Clarke knows that he knows, but then her vision blackens and she's back in her cell, staring at the pictures on the walls.  
But she promised. She promised.

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this after 6x06 and kept adding the promos so it became a jumbled mess, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. I wanted to post the fic before 6x07 but never got the time to finish it completely/read over it, so there might be a few errors. But I needed this idea out of my system lol.  
> Here's to hoping we get some good content tomorrow :)  
> Thanks!


End file.
